


The Blood

by SparrowWitch



Category: Original Work
Genre: Don't Read If You Don't Like Reading Murder, Kind Of Graphic, Murder, Not Beta Read, not edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparrowWitch/pseuds/SparrowWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a murder I wrote. Lot's of blood and stalking and knifing. I now add "knifing" as a verb. Don't worry, the story is much better than the summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blood

The delightful catch of a well-sharpened blade on the sensitive skin of your finger makes you tingle with excitement. You've waited far too long for this opportunity to just let it slip away. She's the perfect victim.  
You place the knife reverently into its leather sheath. Can't have any accidental injuries. Every stroke with that knife tonight will be slow and deliberate. Otherwise you may as well shoot a stranger in the head. That's no fun. You've tried. The promise of a bloody corpse appeases you as you wait.  
She always arrives home at 6:00, or close to it. The night get's just that touch darker as a cloud drifts in front of the moon. The streetlights do not work here. Except the one right near the edge of your view. Where this street becomes the next. That streetlight valiantly flickers in an attempt to light the street.  
You squirm in your seat as you think of her arrival. When she arrives you'll wait five minutes. Then you'll run swiftly around her house to the back door. You'll open it slowly. It will be silent, you've oiled it every night for the past week in preparation for this. You'll tread carefully up the carpeted stairs and listen at the top. She'll be in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. The white tiles will make a wonderful canvas, to be painted red.  
You'll grab her, covering her moth, and slice her throat. Making sure to nick the carotid artery. The first spurt of blood will hit the mirror. The mirror that reflects her paling face and mostly lifeless eyes. You'll rub blood into every surface of the knife, as you do every time. Then you'll place her on the ground and latch onto her carotid artery with your mouth. It will still be warm. Silky.  
The blood will be every where and you won't be able to keep from rubbing it into your face; your arms. You'll bathe in the precious liquid that kept her alive. You won't wash it off either. It will stay clinging to your body, shifting in your stomach, dripping down your face, as you walk calmly back to you car. Adding more blood stains to the steering wheel.  
The blood will stay with you until it peels off your skin. You'll stay in the "collecting room". The blood flakes will join countless others until they are gone. You'll survive on that stomach full of blood until all marks have left your skin. Then you'll leave your house to go find more blood.  
She pulls up in her car, pulling you gently out of your fantasy. It's 6:02. Perfect.  
You can see her silhouette through her thin curtains as she puts down her bag and hangs up her coat. You can see her let down her tight bun and head up stairs. She shuts the curtains to her bedroom, but before she does you catch a glimpse of her face. She is happy and content. Her hair gently curls around her face with it's new freedom. Her silhouette makes her actions clear as she changes out of her blazer and skirt and into her comfortable pajamas. She then leaves the room. This is when she'll be uncapping the toothpaste.  
You open the door and stand up. Just floating on the sensation for a moment before you dash across the road and into her front garden. The breach of her property adds even further to your excitement and you shut your eyes for a moment. You can hear her. Humming loudly through the open window of her bathroom. You continue around her house, the soft crunch of grass under your feet even better than complete silence. Her back door is beckoning and your quietly enter her house through it. The carpet throughout her house aids you in your stealth. You toe of your boots so as not to dirty her carpet - ignoring the fact that you'll be dripping red when you come back.  
You make your way carefully up her stairs, sliding your hand along the worn, wooden bar attached to the wall. While your left hand slides along the soft wood, you reach down with your right and open the sheath attached to your belt with one hand. Your knife gleams in the soft light coming down the stairs from the open bathroom door. The soft clunk of your feet on the stairs sounds as though it is muffled. The buzzing in your ears is too loud to hear it clearly. You step onto the landing and feel the worn carpet just at the edge. Another step is all it takes until you are slowly pushing the door open further with your left hand and raising the knife with your right.  
You step into the bathroom and quickly catch her as she spits her toothpaste into the sink. The back of her body is pressed tightly against the front of yours and her eyes are bright with fear above your hand. A warm puff of air leaves her nose and engulfs your hand. Using your left hand currently holding her mouth shut, you tilt her head backwards and press the blade against her skin. You tilt it so the point is pressing harder and a single bead of blood emerges and drips slowly down her neck.  
Without further warning you pull the knife right swiftly over her neck. She tries to cry out but it is muffled by your hand. You hold her face forwards. All she can see is her reflected image slowly becoming red as her heart pushes bright red blood out into the air. You put the knife on the edge of the sink as you lay her down in the pool of blood at her feet.  
You lick your lips before you latch onto the left of her neck. The blood is spurting less now as her heart can't muster the power, but a steady stream still flows into your mouth as you guzzle it down. It tastes so pleasantly of metal and something unique to her. You feel like you are drinking everything that makes her, her, and taking it into yourself. She will live on in you as nutrients from her blood helps create new cells and feed the old. When you are full and noticeably bloated you pull back a centimetre. A last feeble beat from her heart pulses a trickle of blood onto your face and you rub it around.  
The bare skin of your arms and face feel stronger as your skin absorbs her blood. You wipe a hand across the mirror and wipe the blood all down your arms. A pool of blood is around your bare feet, you dip both hands in and wipe that down your face. It doesn't matter how it looks as your smudge it into your eyelids, cheeks and lips. Her blood is all you need right now and some drips down from your lips onto your neck, where you paint any leftover skin red.  
It is beautiful. You pick your knife up from the edge of the sink, where it was forgotten earlier, and you leave the room, her glassy eyes still looking up at the ceiling. You shut the door after you and walk down the stairs, bloody footprints staining the white carpet. You run your right hand down the banister, a smudge of blood in its wake. As you stand back at the back door, you put your boots back on. A short stroll back to your car and you get back in. Slow and lethargic in your movement because of your quenched thirst and sated hunger.


End file.
